Chapter 11

"You should have known better, Anthony. You can run, but you can't hide. Not from me."

Tony's heart ricocheted within his chest as his awareness prickled. The shadows, flickering along the corners of Howard's study, almost seemed to expand in size, curling around his father's ebony pinstripe suit. Howard's advancing steps hammered in tune with his thrumming pulse.

Even though Tony braced himself for the first hit, it was still jarring enough to steal the breath from his lungs. He couldn't fight back a whimper when he cradled his bruising cheek in his palm, making the mistake of taking his attention off of his father. Quicker than lightning, Howard backhanded him with such force that it knocked Tony on his ass with a harsh grunt. His forehead throbbed, feeling wet and sticky to the touch, and Tony could trace the indention his father's rings left into his skin.

The choked-off gasp that escaped his throat was barely discernible over Howard's sudden screams of anger, which reverberated between the four walls of his study. Tony curled further into himself, apologies and sobs wrenching from his throat without his permission. His brain stuttered over the pain, doing everything and saying anything that might bring him even a second of reprieve.

But Howard was having none of it. The bastard wrapped his thick, sweaty hands around Tony's throat and unfurled him so that he lay on his back, belly exposed like wild prey submitting to its predator.

"Three months, boy," Howard sneered, coal and hellfire blazing behind his eyes. "I bet you thought you were free, that you were safe. You will never rid yourself of me, Anthony. I will always be a part of you."

And then he crushed his glass of whiskey straight into Tony's chest.

XX

A sharp thud ripped Tony back to the waking world. He groaned, kicking his legs out to dislodge the sheets he tangled himself in throughout the night and pushed himself off the floor. His knees wobbled under his weight, and he had to catch himself against the bed frame to keep from falling once again.

Shit. Tony forced himself to breathe, filling his lungs with the air he never seemed to be able to find within his dreams. Tony rubbed a clammy hand against the scars decorating his chest in an attempt to remind himself that the worst was over. He was alive. Howard hadn't actually managed to kill him that night.

Though, not for lack of trying.

He scrambled for his phone to check the time and grimaced. 2:46 A.M. Way too fucking early to ask Peter or any of the other Avengers for breakfast or coffee, but Tony knew there was no hope of him falling back asleep. Instead, Tony decided to jump in the shower quickly to clean off the sweat accumulated across his overheated skin. He changed into fresh clothes and slipped out the door, hoping to get a good lay of the land around the compound, if nothing else.

The hallways reminded him of the military bases he visited in his youth. Wall art was sparse, and the fluorescent lighting overhead chased away lingering shadows. Tony explored the different nooks and crannies leading to the living room he was familiar with, a large kitchen with mostly modern appliances and countertops, a massive garage with a full array of blacked-out vehicles, and two sets of locker rooms. As he approached the other end of the compound, a sound caught his attention. Or rather, a flutter of harsh slaps that seemed like they were hitting leather.

The room turned out to be a gym, roughly the size of the garage, littered with various weight racks, free weights, and equipment. In the middle of it all was Rogers, looking like a fucking demigod with his miles of pale, sweaty skin free of clothing except for a pair of shorts, attacking a punching bag as if it insulted his mother. Tony's mouth watered at the sight of Rogers' muscles, abs, and sharp V of his hips on full display, so incredibly different from when they were kids.

Tony thought Steve was beautiful even then. Sure, he was skinny and hot-headed with a laundry list of illnesses just hovering beneath the surface, but his heart was always in the right place. He was the first person since Jarvis to show him any kindness, and even that blossomed into a love that burned so brightly it hurt Tony to examine too closely. He fell in love with Steve's mind and his heart, not his body. But, well, looking at him now? It just showed him there was one more thing to love about him.

Not that he was quite ready for that. He hadn't worked out his feelings on the bomb Rogers and Barnes dropped on him earlier. His emotions were still tangled and chaotic, and Tony didn't have the emotional capacity to sort through them just yet. There was still too much going on for him to devote the time and energy to take that next step. Tony still needed to know what happened to his parents and identify their murderer. Even if he can't drudge up any happy memories or feelings surrounding his parents, they were still his blood. Regardless of how Tony felt about them, their killer's still coming after him, which, right now, was his biggest issue.

Not to mention, it's entirely probable, if someone wanted him dead, they would go after his family back in California.. Tony would die before letting anything happen to Rhodey, Pepper, or Happy. He wanted the threat to his friend's lives eradicated—without mercy. When they were kids, Bucky always praised Tony on his ability to settle Steve like nobody else, to bring him down from the high his irritation and resentment caused. Tony helped the young Commandos heir find reason about a situation, to examine each side to every story or mission. But both Steve and Bucky were aware that Tony had his own demons. He loved playing with fire and was never afraid of getting burned.

He was merciless when it came down to it. And when Tony found the person threatening his family, there would be no leniency or forgiveness. All Tony wanted was blood.

Tony must have made a sound because the echo of the hits stopped abruptly, and Rogers turned to face him with an expression of pure bewilderment. "Tony? What are you doing awake?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Tony pointed out, tucking his hands into the pocket of his sweats and leaning against the door frame.

Rogers ducked his head and shrugged while peeling the tape off his knuckles. "I come down here sometimes when I can't sleep."

Tony watched him for a few moments and concentrated on looking past the aesthetics. Yes, Rogers was frustratingly beautiful and four times the size he used to be, but he still had the same tells. His brow furrowed until there was a crinkle between his eyes, the tendons in his neck popped in a way that told Tony that he was flexing his jaw too often, and he practically vibrated in place, unable to keep still. So, Tony could tell, Rogers was upset, anxious, and angry all at once. Never a good mindset for him.

"What's wrong?"

Rogers looked at him with wide, electric blue eyes. "Why would you think something's wrong?"

Tony didn't bother to hide his eye roll. "You mean besides the fact you're beating the shit out of that punching bag at three in the morning? It might have been thirteen years since I last saw you, Rogers, but I still know you."

The other man sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "I guess I can't deny that. And I wish you'd call me Steve, but I won't push if you're not ready."

Tony blinked, opening his mouth before closing it again. He hadn't actively avoided using his former friends' first names, but it was an automatic reaction to distance himself. Tony had already had his heart shattered once, and he'd never truly gotten past it. He certainly didn't think Rogers or Barnes cared one way or another what he called them. "I...I guess I could do that. Steve."

Rogers'—no, Steve's tired grin lit up his entire face. "Thanks, Tony. That means a lot."

Tony lifted one of his shoulders and scratched at his nose. "I don't know why. Now, are you going to explain what you're doing picking a fight with an inanimate object, or are you going to make me drag it out of you?"

Steve looked down at his body and grimaced. "I'd rather not smell like death warmed over for this conversation. Do you mind if I shower first?"

"Not at all," Tony allowed, knowing that he wouldn't be ready to go back to sleep yet and trying not to think about what Steve looked like soaking wet underneath the shower spray. "I'll meet you in the living room?"

"Great. There are hot chocolate ingredients in the kitchen if you'd like some."

Tony couldn't fight the small smile touching his lips. Steve remembered Tony's preferred drink when he woke up screaming from his nightmares that left him too afraid and pumped up on adrenalin. "You got it, Cap."

Steve grinned and headed back towards the locker rooms, but not before looking back over his shoulder at Tony.

When Steve joined him on the couch, Tony had two steaming mugs set atop the provided coasters. The blonde looked just as sinfully delicious as he had earlier, but this time he found a white cotton tee that stretched across his broad chest and a pair of skinny black sweats that hugged his curves beautifully.

Steve hummed, "thanks for the hot chocolate." He wrapped both of his enormous hands around the mug, bringing it close to his chest.

Tony nodded and tucked his knees underneath him. "It was your idea." He couldn't help looking away and rubbing the back of his neck. "Um, before we get into what's eating at you, do you think you could tell me about your time after my forced return to Howard?"

"Really?" Steve asked, looking positively gobsmacked.

"Yeah. Barnes, er, Bucky, told me a bit about what happened, why you couldn't contact me, and you creating The Avengers, but I don't know anything about your lives from over the past thirteen years. I'd like to know if you're willing to share."

"I'd share anything with you, Tony," Steve told him. He spoke with such resolve it had Tony reeling. "My father's men trailed us practically every day until we shipped off to boot camp, so we didn't exactly have any time to get up to no good."

"When did all of this," Tony waved a hand dismissively, gesturing to all of Steve—so much more of him than Tony remembered—to accentuate his point, "happen?"

Steve's cheeks burned, the flush going all the way up to the tips of his ears just like it did when they were kids. "Ah, right. I hit a bit of a growth spurt, and I was so angry all the time, missing you, that Buck helped me transfer that energy into training to be fit enough for the army to take me."

The corners of Tony's lips twitched upwards. "Looks like it worked."

A smug grin inched itself onto Steve's face, and it was Tony's turn to blush.

"Anyway," Steve continued, sitting up just a bit straighter after having Tony's attention. "Boot camp lasted about ten weeks, and then we both stuck around for some specialized training for about six months. After that, we were assigned to the same team and deployed overseas. I'm sure you remember how Buck and I work extremely well together, our colonel noticed. So, near the end of our first year, he planned on sending us onto additional training, but—"

Tony did a quick calculation in his head and grimaced, biting the instinct to reach to take Steve's hand. "That's when you thought I died?"

Steve nodded, a haunted look darkening his expression. "I spent every second of my life thinking about you, Tony. I planned on how Buck and I would find you, to tell you the truth, and how I would make my father pay for taking you from me." He looked away, his blue eyes burning a hole through the coffee table. "It was so sudden, the news of your disappearance. Almost as soon as the media found out that you were gone, the world started guessing what gruesome death you must have suffered. I couldn't even stand to look at a television or newspaper after that."

"I'm sorry," Tony sighed, giving in to the desire to be closer to Steve and moving across the couch until they were side by side, pressed together from shoulder to thigh. The blonde relaxed beneath his touch, the tension draining from his shoulders.

"No," Steve shook his head, leaning into Tony's warmth. "It wasn't your fault. You changed your name and got away from everything your family stood for. You did what was best for you, and I will never blame you for that." He took a sip of his drink. "Anyway, after that, I sort of just...shut down. If I didn't let myself feel anything, I couldn't drown in the pain of losing you again."

He let out a low chuckle. "Turns out that's the exact frame of mind the army wants you in to be successful. Buck followed my lead because he was hurting just as much as I was, and we finished out our tour with flying colors and more than a few recommendations. I wasn't ready to go home and face my father without committing fratricide, so Buck and I re-enlisted. The Brass took a shine to us, and we ended up in the Special Forces where we met Nat, Clint, Bruce, and Thor."

Tony settled his head against Steve's shoulder, shoving down the flurry of panic sitting just below his sternum. "The Avengers."

He felt, rather than saw, Steve nod. Christ, it felt good to be close to him again. "I guess you know the rest. We took on Hydra with a few other groups and—oh!"

"What?" Tony asked, leaning back to watch Steve's eyes light up with a memory.

"Do you remember when we were kids, and I told you the day we met that my father killed a man in front of The Commandos?"

Tony tilted his head with a frown as he thought back to his time in Brooklyn. "Yeah, Zemo, right? He was some kind of double agent."

"Yes, he was. But Bucky and I never quite understood how that could have happened. My father sponsored his move to the United States. He'd been with The Commandos for as long as I can remember."

"So, what happened?"

Steve's hand flexed beside Tony's thigh. "Apparently, Johann Schmidt, the leader of Hydra, had his hands in more pies than anyone knew. He'd allied himself with several terrorist organizations around the world, including the Ten Rings."

Tony raised an eyebrow, encouraging Steve to continue with a nod.

"The Ten Rings operated out of Sokovia. They were the ones who murdered Zemo's family. Schmidt convinced him to spy on The Commandos in exchange for information on what happened to his wife and kids."

"That's horrifying," Tony scowled in disgust. "I hope you made that bastard pay."

Steve chuckled darkly: "Trust me, I do revenge better than anyone. Haven't you heard the stories of The Captain and his attack dog?"

Tony hummed, setting his mug down when he felt his eyes grow heavy. "I guess I'm fortunate enough to look behind the curtain. Thanks for catching me up."

Steve cleared his throat, suddenly sounding nervous. He shifted around slowly, maneuvering them until he had his arm around Tony's shoulders and leaned back into the couch cushions. "Is this okay?"

Tony didn't allow room for second-guessing and sunk further into Steve's warmth. "Yeah, this is okay. Now, what had you angry enough to miss out on sleep and take out your frustrations on a perfectly decent punching bag at three in the morning?"

The muscles surrounding Tony tensed, and Tony didn't hesitate to curl a hand around Steve's bicep, absently stroking until he went lax beneath his touch. They were silent for a few moments until their breathing synched up.

"My team gathered yesterday for a debrief on everything they'd learned during their assignments. We found out who's behind your parents' murder and who sent those men to attack you."

Tony's breath caught in his throat, the adrenaline suddenly spiking within his veins, and he tried to sit up only for Steve to bring him back against his chest as if he wasn't quite ready to let him go. "Relax, Tony. You're safe here, I promise. The Compound is the safest place you could possibly be. The Avengers are already on the move to eliminate the threat to you and your friends back in California."

The strain refused to release in his shoulders and chest, but Tony did force himself to follow the familiar breathing pattern again. "Tell me."

"Are you sure?" Steve's voice was barely a whisper, the heat from his touch enveloping Tony until resolve settled in his spine.

"Yes."

"It was Obadiah Stane."

This time, Steve did allow Tony to move away from him so Tony could turn around sharply, lips parted in shock. "What? Are you fucking serious?"

He watched Steve swallow thickly. "Yes. I can give you the reports if you'd like to review them to see the evidence for yourself. My team doesn't make mistakes, so I'm certain."

Tony didn't know what to feel. He never thought the perpetrator would be someone he knew, let alone someone so close to his family. Obie—no, Stane, was his fucking godfather, for Christ's sake. His father had trusted the man with his company, with his life. When did that stop being enough for him? Why would he go through such drastic measures as to hire hitmen to eliminate Howard and Maria? "I don't understand," Tony rasped.

"Without seeing a copy of your parent's will, we can only assume. But, we believe Stane wanted control over Stark Industries and your parent's assets. We found evidence that he's been dealing under the table with shell corporations overseas—selling weapons to the highest bidder. The profit margin on a sale like that is incomparable, and it's unlikely he was willing to give that up."

Tony blinked a few times to clear the sudden blurriness from his vision. Confusion and resentment seethed inside his veins as he shook his head in disbelief. "Are you fucking kidding me right now? He killed off my parents because he thought they were going to leave all of that shit to me?" He threw his hands up in the air as he lost control of the volume of his voice. "My parents hated me! My mother pretended I didn't exist for most of my life, and Howard never missed an opportunity to remind me just how unwelcome I was in their house by beating the shit out of me. They would have never left me SI!"

Steve watched him warily, the look on his face a mixture of emotions. What Tony didn't expect was for him to play the devil's advocate. "Maybe, but Tony, that's the only explanation that fits. If Howard changed his will to ensure you got everything, then maybe there was a part of himself that really did love you—Not that it excuses anything done to you by his hand," he added on quickly.

But Tony couldn't handle the possibility of his father being anything less than a monster. Not after everything that man put him through. Steve was looking at him with such a softness in his eyes that it made Tony want to crawl out of his own skin. "No," he refused firmly. "You don't understand, Steve." Tony began rolling up his oversized t-shirt, revealing the tanned skin of his stomach. "Howard Stark wasn't capable of love, not after he did this to me."

Tony wasn't quite sure what kind of reaction he had been expecting, but it wasn't Steve shoving him down onto the couch and crawling over him, eyes laser-focused on the scars adorning his chest. Though, on a typical day, he might have had some type of reaction to Steve kneeling between his legs—if it weren't for the fact that this might be the least sexy he's ever felt.

"How—" Steve raged quietly, his trembling voice barely above a whisper.

Tony couldn't meet his eyes. "That night, after they brought me back from Brooklyn. My father had been drinking."

"What did he do, Tony?"

And Tony couldn't have ignored the blatant command in his voice even if he tried. "He hit me a few times, but that must not have been enough to put me in my place. So, he smashed a glass of whiskey into my chest."

"Oh, God," Steve choked, gathering Tony in his arms and burying his face into the crook of Tony's neck. "Fuck, I'm so, so sorry, Tony. This is my fault. I was supposed to protect you, and I couldn't even manage that. I'm sorry."

Tony's heart lurched at the abrupt change in position, but he gathered his strength and wrapped his arms around Steve the best he could with the sheer amount of muscle under his hands. He stroked his shoulders soothingly. "It's not your fault, Steve. I thought it was for a long time, but I believed you when you said your father was the one who took me away from you. Did you lie to me?"

Steve jerked back as if slapped, "No! No, fuck, Tony, I'd never lie to you, especially about something like that. I swear!"

"Then this isn't your fault," Tony repeated adamantly. "We were kids when those men came for me, Steve. You and Bucky couldn't do anything to stop them; I know that now. Your father desired to drive a wedge between us—he succeeded. Howard was always a right bastard, so I knew there wouldn't be any welcome-home parties in my future. It's not my fault that he barreled past the line in the sand that I'd drawn for myself, and it certainly isn't Bucky's or yours. It happened, Steve. There's nothing we can do to change that."

"I just," Steve slumped back against Tony helplessly. "I hate the fact that I couldn't protect you."

"You can protect me now."

They stayed wrapped around each other for a long few minutes before Steve pulled away with a sharp nod and a newfound sense of determination blazing behind his eyes. "You're right. I'm taking The Soldier with me to meet up with our team to bring in Stane and the men who attacked you. Please, go back to bed and try and get some rest. Thor and Loki will be on security detail, but Bruce, Peter, and the twins will be here to keep you company."

"Oh," Tony stated dumbly, rising with Steve as he got to his feet. "Right."

"Don't worry," Steve insisted, running his fingers along Tony's cheek as if he couldn't help himself. "It's almost over." And then he was gone.

Suddenly, that's exactly what Tony was afraid of.

XX